


in D flat major

by ashtrees (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:49:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ashtrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You remember things that didn't happen, things that don't exist, red eyes and hidden smiles, and you're in love with an imaginary boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in D flat major

**Author's Note:**

> cross posted from [tumblr](http://turntechtricks.tumblr.com/post/36791983391/day-twenty-six-diamond-john-dave-you-know-the)

You know the exact placing of each of his tiny freckles. You count them with your fingertips, codes in braille and your hands shake until he takes them in his own.

You play piano and forget the notes. You lie down and listen to gentle hums and harsher beats from his tables, his music is always so much louder than yours, so much more alive. Your eyes are wet and he wipes away the tracks down your cheeks with soft sounds and you fall asleep in his arms.

You wake up and the keys are all wet with tears you didn’t mean to let fall.

You turn the page on your calendar and sigh as the years pass by, fast and slow, and you breathe deep to keep back the sobs.

Red eyes, he had red eyes.

You don’t know if your mind is playing games anymore.

Green, violet, grey text, dice and the number eight, a doting father and the smell of pipe tabacco lingering in clean air. You breathe deep and try not to remember things that never happened.

You loved him. The clock ticks too loudly behind you and you press down hard on the piano, uneven melodies and your fingers are bleeding but you keep on. Red stains to match missing eyes and bloody smiles.

He died, you think. So did you.

The pages of the calendar slip past January, February, March, and April, and you try not to cry when the thirteenth comes around for reasons you don’t want to understand.

You think maybe they might be out there somewhere, but the hollowness in your chest tells you your hopes run false. They’re not here, not anymore, not yet, you don’t know but you play songs and you tell jokes and make people laugh and you smile and no one wants to notice the way it never reaches your eyes.

 _You’re tired_ , they say, and you agree. You lie down and watch the weeks slip through into months into years and pretend it’s his hand in yours when you clutch at empty bedsheets.

He didn’t smile much and every joke you tell is an attempt to make a nonexistent boy happy, you’re talking to no one and they love you, you take your bow and watch the curtain fall and can’t help but feel like your caught in the wrong time, the wrong air in your aging lungs. You buy a pair of sunglasses and don’t know what to do with them. You dream of happy green lines and softer purple. You dream of pale skin against your own and countless freckles and hidden smiles.

Your fingers falter in the simple tune and you play on for an empty room.


End file.
